


The Holly And the Ivy

by TaraTheMeerkat



Category: Father Brown - G. K. Chesterton
Genre: Father Brown has ADHD, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ironically, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Spooning, and I'm the fool who decided I should title all of these fics after carols, because I'm here to project onto my faves, but I mean this carol IS mentioned in this fic, of all my crime and christmas fics this one has the flimsiest reason for its title, or at least that's how I was writing him, they are GAY and they are DISASTERS and they LOVE EACH OTHER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28121079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraTheMeerkat/pseuds/TaraTheMeerkat
Summary: Father Brown works too hard, especially at Christmas. Luckily, Flambeau is on hand, to make sure he at least gets some sleep, whether he likes it or not.Written for the Crime & Christmas 2020 challenge, prompt 8: Cosy(Wow, I am VERY behind.)
Relationships: Father Brown/M. Hercule Flambeau
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12
Collections: Crime & Christmas 2020





	The Holly And the Ivy

Father Brown yawned, as he absentmindedly scribbled away at his notes. December was always a particularly busy time of year, with extra services to organise, not to mention community gatherings and celebrations, the traditional overbooking of social obligations that the little Father always seemed to find himself with, festive charity work he got never say no to assisting with, tensions running high inevitably leading to more people than usual seeking his counsel or the sanctity of confession, and, unfortunately, the sudden chill as nights drew in leading to an increase in the amount of sick people to visit and, sadly, funerals to conduct.

“Feeling sleepy, Father?” came a soft voice from the doorway, with a charming French lilt. The priest looked up to see a large man leaning casually against the doorframe, with a tray in his hands and a fond smile on his face.

Father Brown forgot his stresses for a moment and smiled broadly. “Flambeau!” he cried, delighted. “What are you doing here?” He paused, then gave a slightly sterner look. “And how did you get in?”

“Ah. Well,” Flambeau said, shifting the tray in his hands sheepishly. “If you _will_ leave your windows unlocked Father, you can’t be surprised if all sorts of unsavoury creatures get in.”

Father Brown frowned at him.

“I wouldn’t break into most people’s houses, Father!” Flambeau protested. “Only because it’s you!”

Father Brown’s frown deepened. “My dear Flambeau,” he said. “I don’t believe that’s quite the reassuring sentence you seem to think it is.”

“I was worried about you, Father!” Flambeau cried, eyes wide and innocent. “When you didn’t show up for our dinner-” 

Father Brown’s own eyes widened at that, and he blushed in mortification. “That was tonight?” he whispered, guiltily.

Flambeau nodded. “I waited for you, Father, at my flat. When you didn’t show up, I thought something might be wrong, so I came looking for you.”

“Oh.” Father Brown’s blush spread, and he put down his pen with a sigh. “I am _sorry_ , Flambeau. Truly. You know how I treasure our dinners together. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

Flambeau gave a small shrug, and a half smile. “It’s alright,” he said. “I did knock!” He added. “But I got no answer. So I came in through the kitchen window.”

The priest gave a small smile in return. “I should probably give you your own key. Heaven knows you don’t strictly need one, but if you keep entering the rectory in such irregular ways, you shall get yourself arrested for burglary one of these days.”

Flambeau snorted. “Wouldn’t that be a turn up for the books? The one time the police actually manage to arrest me for theft, and I didn’t actually do it.”

Father Brown chuckled, then sighed once more, rubbing a hand over his weary face. “Sorry I didn’t hear the door,” he said. “I was rather off in my own little world, I’m afraid.”

“It’s quite alright,” the Frenchman said, softly. “I know how easily distracted you can be. And there _is_ far more to distract you, this time of year.”

“There _is!_ ” Father Brown said, nodding earnestly. “Just earlier today I was trying to write my diaries when I heard carol singers outside, and I started thinking about how little sense some carols make - The Holly and The Ivy, you know? It doesn’t even _sound_ like a Christmas song! It sounds like an old dancing song, or a drinking song, or something, that someone just tweaked the lyrics of slightly to make it acceptable to sing in church. They did used to do that sort of thing, you know? The Protestants did, anyway, I’m not so sure about the Catholics, but we all borrow each other’s songs in the end, don’t we. Anyway, the next thing I knew it was half an hour later and I’d got absolutely nothing done! So I’ve been sitting here working ever since. Time just completely got away from me. I didn’t even realise the sun had gone down until you came in.”

Flambeau shook his head fondly, and strode across the study in two great strides, placing the tray down on the desk. Upon it sat two mugs of cocoa, two slices of only slightly stale sponge cake, and a veritable mountain of ham sandwiches. “I assumed you hadn’t eaten, since you never showed up for dinner. So I did I best with what I could find in your kitchen.”

“Oh!” Father Brown clapped his hands in delight. “How very thoughtful of you! I am quite hungry. I quite forgot to have lunch today too, I haven’t eaten a thing since I made some toast for elevenses. Not even a biscuit!”

“ _Father!”_ Flambeau sounded somewhere between exasperated and genuinely alarmed. “You already work far too hard, now you mean to tell me you aren’t even _feeding_ yourself properly? Please tell me you at least remember to sleep.”

“Ah. Um. Well.”

**_“Father.”_ **

“I did get some sleep last night!” the little priest protested.

“How much.” Flambeau’s voice was low and dangerous, and Father Brown found himself feeling strangely like a naughty schoolboy. “How _much_ sleep, Father.”

“Well, I went to bed at two o’clock, awoke at six, and accounting for reading in bed and the time it took me to fall asleep, I’d say… three and a half hours?”

Flambeau sighed heavily and sat down on the desk, taking a sandwich from the tray, turning sideways to face Father Brown. “Once you’ve eaten, you are going straight to bed, Father,” he said, so sternly it almost made the Father chuckle, before he stopped himself and frowned again.

“I have too much work to do, Flambeau,” he said, weakly.

“Then you can do it _tomorrow_ ,” Flambeau said, gesturing wildly with the sandwich and spraying crumbs across Father Brown’s books and papers.

Father Brown brushed the crumbs off absentmindedly. “But-”

“No buts, Father.” Flambeau took a bite of the sandwich he held, and picked another off the tray and pressed it into the priest’s hands. “You can’t get work done well at all if you’re hungry and tired.” He sighed again, and his tone softened. “You work harder and more selflessly than anyone I know. You deserve to look after yourself. You deserve to _rest_.”

Father Brown seemed to have run out of arguments, and a lull fell over the room. The two men sat in companionable silence for a few moments, eating sandwiches and drinking cocoa, each lost in their own thoughts.

Eventually, having drained his mug, Father Brown put it down with a clink, gave another yawn, and picked up his pen once more.

 _“Father,”_ said Flambeau, firmly, but without even the slightest hint of anger or aggression in his voice. “Work tomorrow. Sleep now.”

“Let me just finish this one letter, Flambeau,” the priest said, hearing Flambeau stand to his feet and move around the little room, but not looking up.

“Don’t make me make you, Father.”

There was a touch of amusement in Flambeau’s voice, but Father Brown didn’t have time to wonder what that might mean before he felt himself hoisted out of his chair and into the air from behind, by two great hands beneath his arms.

“Oh!” he gasped, legs wiggling feebly. “Flambeau!”

With a small “hup!”, Flambeau adjusted the little Father in his arms, resulting in the priest being carried bridal-style, Flambeau’s arms clutching him firmly. “You, my dear little fool, are going to get a decent amount of rest, whether you like it or not,” he said, smile evident in his voice.

Father Brown couldn’t help but smile back, despite himself. He was always impressed by Flambeau’s strength, and always delighted to see it in action. He allowed himself to be carried out of the study, across the landing to his bedroom, and unceremoniously dropped onto his bed. He beamed up at Flambeau from the crumpled heap he’d landed, but said: “Flambeau, I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“That hardly matters, not for one night.” Flambeau sat down on the bed next to the little priest, leaned over, and began unbuttoning his cassock.

Father Brown blushed, but allowed him to continue. He shivered slightly, as the cassock was removed from his person and carefully folded on a chair, and a cold wind whipped around him. “Flambeau?” he asked, softly, uncertainly.

Flambeau smiled at him, and answered equally softly. “What is it, Father?”

“It’s cold, Flambeau.”

“Then _you_ ,” Flambeau tapped the little priest on his little round nose with one long finger, for emphasis. “Had better get wrapped up in that quilt, and go to sleep.”

Father Brown hummed a small noise of protest. “ _No,_ Flambeau. It’s _cold_ here at night. And lonely. Very lonely, Flambeau.”

“Oh. OH.” It was Flambeau’s turn to blush, as he realised what the priest was saying.

Father Brown looked at him shyly, through half-lidded eyes. “Will you stay, Flambeau?” he asked, in a small voice, barely more than a whisper.

Flambeau gave a sharp nod, and sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully unlacing his shoes, before slipping under the covers next to the Father, pulling the quilt up over both of them. “Let me keep you warm, Father,” he whispered, his voice intoxicatingly close, his breath warm on Father Brown ear.

Father Brown wriggled closer, letting out a blissful sigh when a pair of strong arms were wrapped around him, holding him close, holding him in place, under the covers. They lay in silence like this for a few minutes, before Father Brown spoke once more. “I wish every night could be like this, Flambeau,” he murmured into the half-dark.

Flambeau snorted. “What, with me breaking into your house and then having to prise you away from your work by force?” he said, voice dripping with fond amusement.

Father Brown tutted, rolling his eyes, although Flambeau could not see the action. “ _No,_ Flambeau. With you here. Holding me.” He leaned back against Flambeau’s chest with another blissful sigh, and began lazily tracing a finger across the hand currently wrapped around his own chest in an almost possessive manner. “Feels safe,” he murmured. “Warm. Cosy. Like nothing else matters, as long as we’re here together.”

He gasped and shivered in delight as Flambeau pressed a soft kiss to Father Brown’s neck. “Maybe nothing else does,” the Frenchman whispered.

 _Maybe he’s right,_ Father Brown thought, as he finally drifted off to sleep. _Maybe nothing else does._


End file.
